


Music Of My Soul

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Music, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining Sherlock, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the day he met her, Sherlock composed a song for Molly in his head, a song he finished on the day of his wedding to her, a song he promised to play many times in their future together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music Of My Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daisherz365](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisherz365/gifts), [elliedilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliedilly/gifts).



> So this fic was based on one of **[daisherz365](http://sincerelydayyy.tumblr.com/post/121217446585/let-there-be-headcanons-ii)** 's awesome headcanons (" _Sherlock playing Molly’s composition that he finished the day they got married (started subconsciously during their first weeks of knowing each other) whenever she needs a little cheering up or he wants to feel her presence when they’re apart_ "). **elliedilly** picked it based on the title acronym for me to write and I decided to write the first few segments in 200 word drabbles and then the last one as a 250 word drabble. But anyway, I hope you all enjoy.

When he first met her, he had heard a single violin chord. It had lasted no more than ten seconds, but it was music in his head he’d never heard before, music that had stuck with him and popped up every time he was around her. The more times he interacted with her, the more fragments of music would be added: a note progression here, another chord there. 

Before he knew it, there was a song being composed in his head in tribute to Margaret Anne Hooper.

He didn’t know what made her so special. She was not worthy of note, to be honest. She was intelligent, there was that. She was…nice, he supposed. Kind, even though that was something that was going to get her hurt one day if she wasn’t careful. She was even tempered and she put up with abuse from him when others wouldn’t, which he supposed made her better than many of the other imbeciles and simpletons he had to deal with.

And maybe that was why she occupied a place in his mind, and why he was composing the song for her.

Not that she’d ever hear it.

He doubted she’d like it anyway.

**\---**

The day he fell off the roof, he wanted to tell her how he felt. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t just that she counted. It was more than that; it was so much more than that. She had been the one person he trusted above all others, the one who was going to help him pull off the trick of the century. And that if he didn’t come back, if it all went to hell and the worst happened that he cared for her more than he had ever cared for himself.

Perhaps he loved her. He was not sure. He didn’t know the emotions in his heart. But he knew when he looked at her, the song in his head, the song he had composed for her from the day he had met her, would play softly until it rose in its crescendo, swelling in time as the feeling in his heart did. He would do anything for her. He would go to any lengths to keep her safe from harm, even if it meant knowing he would never see her again.

Yes. Yes, perhaps he was in love with her.

But she would never know.

**\---**

He came back to find she was with someone else. Whatever chance he may have had, whatever chance he _wanted_ to have, they were gone.

It was his own damn fault, he supposed.

He stayed on the side of her life, stayed her friend, as best he was able. It was quite obvious Tom didn’t want him around. And that was his right, he supposed. But he didn’t understand why Molly had let him decide that he couldn’t stay in her life.

The song he had composed in his head became painful to listen to. It mocked him, reminding him of what he could have had, of what he had let go by being a coward. He would look at her, see her busily working in the lab or in the morgue and hear the song and wonder if there would ever be a chance, if he had let it all slip between his fingers.

Then of course it all went to hell. She was unengaged, he was shot, then he had to leave…no matter what, their fates were always to cross, never to merge. All he would ever have was the song in his head, never her to hold.

**\---**

He knew how rare second chances were, especially after such an enormous cock-up as he’d made. The fact that he wasn’t on a suicide mission in Russia had been phenomenal, and he’d wanted to make the most of it.

And the first thing he’d done once he’d settled his business with his brother was gone to Barts, gone straight to the morgue and as soon as he’d been able to get her alone he’d kissed her with every ounce of passion he possessed. He let the kiss tell her everything he’d kept inside him since the fall off the roof, and when she kissed him back just as passionately, her hands clinging to him, her body pressing against him, the song in his head played triumphantly, no longer mocking or dour.

And when they pulled apart to catch their breath, wide smiles on each of their faces, he knew that this was the way it should be. Them, together, going through the rest of their lives as a team. Eventually she’d agree, he knew that. He’d wait. 

And in that moment he knew the song wasn’t _quite_ finished.

There was still a bit more to add to it after all.

**\---**

It wasn’t until literally moments before he was supposed to go take his place at the altar that he finished the song. Finally, what had been in his head for years and years was now written down on paper, to be performed in front of the crowd of family and friends, the people that they both loved as they celebrated the joyous union of William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Margaret Anne Hooper.

He found his fingers itching to play it, the only time the feeling lessening being when Molly was close, when Molly was touching him. He didn’t care what the others thought. He wanted Molly to hear it, wanted Molly to realize everything she meant to him, feel every ounce of love he had for her, had felt for her for oh so long. He wanted her to know that she was the most important person in his world.

And when he finally played it, when he saw the tears of joy in her eyes, he knew then that he had given her something truly special. When he went to her, she pulled him in for a passionate kiss. “Play that for me often,” she said. “Any time I need cheering up, or when we’re apart.”

“I promise,” he said with a nod.

“Good.” He pulled her in for another kiss that she eagerly returned and held her close. He’d married the best woman in the world, he realized, and there was no woman he’d rather have than her.


End file.
